Graduation
by Moon Gazer
Summary: At his graduation, Draco reflects on his past and the future for himself and others. COMPLETE


~As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death   
  
I take a look at my life and realise there's nothing left~  
  
Graduation. Time for leaving our old ways, making new lives for our selves. Unless you're like me. People like me don't have that kind of freedom. Hell, people like me don't have that long to live, period. I've been caught up in a power struggle since I was born. Serve my master and live...maybe. Betray him, and inevitably die. Some new life, huh?   
  
I'm sitting here in a corner, watching everyone else embrace their parents, or tease their siblings. On the other side of the room is Father. He's looking over at me and I scarcely hold back a shudder. It's a wonder the bastard doesn't freeze the whole room over, he's so icy. I've never known him to be any different, to either my mother or me. The only time I've seen him put aside that pride is when he's kissing Voldemorts feet. Voldemort.... the bastard. It's sickening to watch the others bow and scrape before him. I can't judge though. After all, aren't I just as bad, perhaps worse? I cower and placate just as much as the rest of them. I hate myself for it, but with a choice of either kissing ass or dying, I'd choose the brown nosing. Damned Slytherin tendencies.  
  
~Cause I've been brassing and laughing so long that   
  
Even my mamma thinks that my mind is gone~  
  
And there's Mother. She's looking over at me, but only for a moment. You'd think that carrying me for nine months would instil some sort of motherly tendencies, but not her. She and Father really are perfectly matched. Two matching, damned ice sculptures. I wonder about them, what they were like at my age. They couldn't have been like this all their lives. And if this is what serving the Dark Lord has done to them, what will it do to me? Where will I be in ten years? Hell, where will I be in five years, if I'm lucky and smart enough to keep myself alive that long? As cold as them? Just another Malfoy carrying on the goddamed family name? That's all that really matters in   
  
this family. Carrying on the name, the wealth. And the best way to do that is to serve Voldemort. After all, what could Dumbledore offer? Lemon drops? I can almost laugh at the thought of him offering a lemon drop to my Father.   
  
Almost.  
  
But I won't.   
  
Because that's not like a Malfoy.  
  
~But I ain't never crossed a man that didn't deserve it  
  
Me be treated like a punk, you know that's unheard of  
  
You better watch how you talking, and where you walking   
  
Or you and your homies might be lined in chalk~  
  
There goes Potter. I let go of the urge to make the snide comment that   
  
automatically rises to my lips. After all, it's graduation. Time to be celebratory. Whatever that means. He's looking over at me. He's pathetically easy to read, those eyes of his are so open. It never ceases to amaze me that he's actually still alive and in possession of all his limbs. Not for lack of my trying. Yes, I admit, I have gone out of my way to put him in trouble, possibly even harm him. What does anyone expect from a Malfoy anyways? It's him or me and my desire for survival will win out every time. Dumbledore tries to make the Gryffindors and Slytherins get along, the fool. Potters a nice kid, I suppose. Or so I've heard. But we both stand for different things, things that naturally oppose each other. We might have been friends if we hadn't both been placed on pedestals. His as the boy wonder, savior of the wizarding world, mine as the miserable bastard son of a murderous Death Eater. He's still looking at me, so I settle my features into a sneer. There, that did it. He's glaring and turning away now. That's it, Potter, turn away from the symbol of what you despise, just like it's supposed to be. I suppose there's a certain sort of pride that I take in being the spawn of Malfoy. I can't really afford to be choosy in the matter.  
  
~I really hate to trip but I gotta lope   
  
As they croak I see myself in the pistol smoke ... fool   
  
I'm the kinda G that little homies want to be like   
  
On my knees in the night, saying prayers in the street light~  
  
So in a few hours, seven years of my life will be over. Hopefully some of those   
  
seven years will enable me to keep myself alive for at least another five. Here comes Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle. Those are three people that I most certainly won't miss. Still, I do have my reasons for putting up with them. They all approached me in first year, knowing that I was a Malfoy and what I could bring them. It's something of a give-give relationship. They provide me with the human contact that I still crave, and I provide the leader figure that they need. Not really a friendship, but after all, Slytherins don't need friends, now do they? Besides, they never told about those times I came back from Death   
  
Eater meetings and retched my supper, or lay awake in bed all night, cold as stone. I suppose that requires some sort of pay back, even though I'm ill equipped to give them anything meaningful. What comfort can a block of ice really give?   
  
~They been spending most their lives living in the gangsta's paradise   
  
We keep spending most our lives living in the gangsta's paradise  
  
Look at the situation, they got me facing   
  
I can't live a normal life, I was raised by the strip   
  
So I gotta be down with the hood team~  
  
What would I do with my life, if it were my own? God only knows. I've never really thought about it. Being raised from the age of two for one thing tends to narrow ones view of life. They think they can change us at this school. Bullshit. It's too late by the time we get here. We're too set, too prepared for what our parents chose for us. It takes a lot to break out of that. I almost envy Potter for that. His family never told him what he had to do with his life. Yeah, they couldn't care less if he just curled up and   
  
died, but they basically left him alone, let him make his own choices. I'm not sure I would be able to make my own decisions, if it came to that.   
  
~Too much television watching got me chasing dreams  
  
I'm a educated fool with money on my mind   
  
Got my 10 in my hand and a gleam in my eye   
  
I'm a loped out gangsta set trippin banger   
  
And my homies is down so don't arouse my anger ... fool   
  
Death ain't nothing but a heartbeat away   
  
I'm living life do or die, what can I say   
  
I'm 23 now but will I live to see 24   
  
The way things is going I don't know~  
  
I don't feel sorry for myself. Don't think that I do. This is my life; it's what I got. I deal with it. I don't want pity and I don't ask for it. I don't ask for forgiveness either. Besides, there's always some idiot out there who's worse off. Take Neville for instance. No parents, from what I understand, a bitch of a grandmother, and the boy is just plain pathetic most of the time. Of course, if I were anything like him, I wouldn't be alive today. I still can't believe he is. Professor Snape for another. I know he's a double   
  
agent. Voldemort knows he's a double agent. But the man brings in too much   
  
information on Hogwarts to be disposed of. He walks a thin line, and I admire him for it. Of course he favoured me in class. What else could he do? He constantly has to balance out that weight between the two sides. I wouldn't take his load for anything in the world. Of course, he probably won't make it to the end of this war, but then, neither will I.   
  
That's an oddly comforting thought, that I won't be reduced to what my Father is. A once proud man brought to the ground by a snivelling, inhuman, wisp of a spirit. It's degrading. So much for the great Malfoy name. Still, one must keep up the pretence that the name is an honor and not a curse to bear. A curse yes, but one that I can deal with. Not a millstone about my neck, but rather, an ever present tickling at my back, between my shoulder blades. I scratch at it now and then, but most of the time, ignore it.  
  
~Tell me why are we so blind to see   
  
That the ones we hurt are you and me.  
  
They been spending most their lives living in the gangsta's paradise   
  
We keep spending most our lives living in the gangsta's paradise~  
  
I snort in amusement as a Hufflepuff trips on a table leg near me. Not because the act was particularly funny, but because of how pathetic other people can be. Really, if one is tripping over ones own feet, how effective can you be against a Dark Lord? It's seven years of schooling gone to waste.   
  
Yes, I would like to overthrow Voldemort. I've wanted to since I was five and attended my first meeting. But I'm a Slytherin for a reason. I can bide my time, wait for my best opportunity. Unlike a Gryffindor, I don't charge blindly into a situation, but rather, wait till the advantage is mine. I think Voldemort knows of my secret thoughts. It's in the way he looks at me, the way he singles me out on occasion, or singles out my family for humiliation. He tries to squash my 'rebellious tendencies'. Let him try. I have no ties to bind me. There is no lost love between my parents and I. We're long past the   
  
stage where that lack of affection might have been remedied.  
  
~Power and the money, money and the power   
  
Minute after minute, hour after hour~  
  
One more hour for this stupid celebration. I can't understand why the Headmaster insisted on it. Most of these students will be dead within the year, unless a miracle occurs. It'd be more appropriate to hold a mock funeral. But I suppose that's human nature, to flaunt the face of danger with cheerfulness. I suppose that makes me inhuman for harbouring no such tendencies. I don't really care. I've already distanced myself from all these people. They mean nothing to me. I admit, I don't hold with wholesale slaughter, but I won't suffer pangs of conscience once they're dead.  
  
There goes Potter again. Somebody's laced a green, iridescent ribbon through his hair, and he's laughing as he tries to untangle it from his head. Idiot. Still, if anyone has a chance of making it through this alive, I'd place my bets on him. No, I don't believe that he's all that powerful, or protected by some charm, or any of that nonsense that is whispered about the Common rooms. Still, he must have some skill to have survived seven years of the Dark Lord trying to kill him. Or a whole hell of a lot of luck.   
  
Hopefully both for his sake.  
  
~Everybody's running, but half of them ain't looking   
  
What's going on in the kitchen, but I don't know what's cooking   
  
They say I've got to learn but nobody's here to teach me   
  
If they can't understand it, how can they reach me  
  
I guess they can't   
  
I guess they won't   
  
I guess they front   
  
That's why I know my life is out of luck ... fool  
  
  
  
They been spending most their lives living in the gangsta's paradise   
  
We keep spending most our lives living in the gangsta's paradise  
  
Tell me why are we so blind to see   
  
That the ones we hurt are you and me.   
  
Tell me why are we so blind to see   
  
That the ones we hurt are you and me.~  
  
Are they all really so stupid as to not know what's going to happen? No....no, they aren't. They know. I can see it in their eyes, in the way that hugs linger a little longer than usual. They talk of making new lives, of seeing the world, and underneath it all is an unspoken "if". If we're still alive, if there's still a world worth seeing.   
  
Seven years we've spent here. Now the question is, were those seven years   
  
wasted? Are we all just beasts being led to the slaughter? And what about my future? How long will I live? How long will my survival skills hold out for me? How long before I'm reduced to what my father is? Do any of us have a chance? Do some of us even care?  
  
There's Potter once again. He's walking over to me. Why?  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
"Potter."  
  
He's looking at me, and as usual, the idiot's expression is wide open and   
  
pathetically easy to read.   
  
" I'll be seeing you."  
  
That's all he say's, before walking away. I watch him leave, before standing up and leaving as well.  
  
He knows. He cares. He'll make it. And I suppose in the end, that's all that growing up really is. Making it. 


End file.
